


Carry my joy on the left carry my pain on the right

by refur42 (sigurfox)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Disturbing thoughts, M/M, Mood Swings, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, pov bucky, written in first person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 07:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9224708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigurfox/pseuds/refur42
Summary: On vacation Steve and Bucky rent a house in the woods. One day of life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language.

*Sunrise*

 

For holidays we rent a house in the north countryside.

“Why do I always have to drag you everywhere?” I know, any time he’s ready to catch some sick shit out of nowhere but… it doesn’t mean he has to sit home till the end of the days. Going outside is worth the risk.

People in the village are going to think Steve was dumped off by trolls in his child-rearing years. On the other hand, it’s not like we have to convince anybody in anything. He’s not a troll child. But still, he’s reserved, almost asocial. Often rude and cold-hearted. Seems cold-hearted. It’s all because he simultaneously hates people and wants to save them from all the disasters in the world. Therefore, he constantly needs help dealing with society. I don’t understand it. He annoys me so fucking much. But I love him. And always will be by his side.

 

*Morning*

 

We’re in the car. Clouds are especially creative today. They pose and dance, change their colours, get thicker, get thinner. They laugh, the rumble rolls across the sky. Then they cry over us. Heavy drops fly down and make a mess on the roads. We stop and have a snack in the car, watching the tears stream down the windscreen. Tiny tap-tap-taps on the hood of the car is our music. Steve’s eyes gleam in the early morning’s murk.

We sing songs, surprisingly in sync, as I drive and he’s riding shotgun.

I’m the luckiest person in the world. Because I know, if right now I faced the chance to meet the real love of my life, I’d lose it with an easy mind. I’d drop it into the abyss, if it threatens Steve or our partnership in crime. I’d drop it, I swear. It makes me free. I’d rather, I don’t know, kill half the planet’s population than give up on Steve in any case. Head over heels for him and he’s not even my romance.

“As far as I could possibly look into the past, in every probable life, in any parallel universe, we are together. This soulmate business is the thing actually,” I say.

“In one life we go to war.”

“In one universe I fall off the cliff.”

“In one universe your plane crashes and you get stuck in ice for decades.”

“In another we were serial killers in love.”

“In another we are enemies. But anyway, can’t live without each other.”

These conversations make Steve laugh. Who would have thought. That’s why I keep coming up with such ridiculous scenarios.

I imagine shoveling mold on his cold body. I imagine this twisted reality, in shreds, and shudder.

Sometimes I hate him so much. Can’t stand him and the myriad of his stupid fears. I see the line of demons, standing by his side, poking him with their dirty fingers. And he gives in to them so easily. It makes me sick. I just wanna hit him and scream at him. Until I exceed my month’s limit of words and sounds. Until I run out of voice. I wanna silent-treat Steve for the next month. Usually he starts to cry, and that’s how I stop yelling. Apologize, kiss his cool temple.

Thank god, the rain subsides. Long car rides nauseate Steve. Literally. Or maybe it’s my crappy stories. Mentally, I’m strangling myself right now.

So, while he spends a couple of minutes almost doubled over the ditch, I feed the remnants of his lunch to the birds. Fat bastards, they are going wild, flying all around us, like crazy. Birds have grown so arrogant and audacious nowadays. I just can’t. It scandalizes me.

In a few moments Steve approaches me. He participates in the nourishment mayhem, while he feels all right. He shrieks and laughs, like a child, when a sparrow sit on his hand. Okay, we can still save the day.

 

*Afternoon*

 

Finally, we’re in the house. Steve heads to bed immediately. Still feeling queasy, he can’t stop shaking. I should take him to a local shaman.

Downstairs, the bags stay lying around, unpacked.

Steve’s afraid to get up because he’s convinced it will make him dizzy and nauseous again, and he doesn’t wanna throw up. Once he starts he’ll be puking regularly until late night.

“I will not last through this!” So dramatic. “I wish I could fall asleep.”

What am I to judge, though. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I stroke his ankle. He blinks and smiles wearily at me. Once upon a time we’re going to see the world, the whole world. It will be a slow and a long journey. This tiny trip is just a beginning.

“Don’t be scared. Let me sing you a lullaby. My voice is so terrible, your mind will shut down.”

“Don’t be stupid, you sing perfectly. Your voice will heal me.”

“And you’ll finally get to sleep, have some rest. Okay.”

Maybe already this evening will be a new beginning. A new blank canvas to paint on. I’m a shitty painter, but I’m trying. It’ll be colourful and it’ll be fun. That’s what counts, after all.

I know we shouldn’t have been investing in the future so much. But I guess, the thing is… sometimes we don’t have another choice rather than to believe in the future. Otherwise, boring and meaningless routine would leave us no hope.

Years come and go. You may not be doing what you’ve once dreamt you would, but we are here, we keep going and we’re doing fine. You feel like you want to give up, fine, give up on yourself, but don’t you dare give up on me. Don’t you dare.

 

*Evening*

 

Steve wakes up few hours later. Shadows fuse on the wall. “Come on. Take my hand. I’ll teach you to dance.”

“You’re mocking me, right? So fucking rude of you.”

“I don’t assume, that because of your weak condition _in the morning_ , you wouldn’t want to dance _now_. It’s not rude at all. On the contrary, it’s very polite. It’d be rude if I decided for you.”

Smooth. Steve stares.

“Come on, dancing doesn’t have to be complicated.”

So we tick over, circling on one spot, swaying a little. His favourite song starts playing, I rush to the radio receiver and tune it up. Rush back, grab an armfuls of him. We hug each other and swing to the music some more. He’s so warm and nice, a snug fit in my embrace. My home, my family.

 

*Sunset*

 

“Unwise to stay indoors, while outside it’s such a beautiful day.”

We’re in the yard. It’s a soft clear evening, chill but sunny. Golden rays are all over the place.

We drag a ladder across the vibrant grass. The grass hisses, indignant. I lean the ladder against the wall and test its steadiness. I bring food, Steve carries blankets and books wrapped in them. So we climb onto the rooftop, happy being burdened with our favourite things of comfort.

Steve goes first, I climb behind him, watching his scrawny ass and poorly fleshed thighs in skinny jeans move above my face. My palm hover an inch from his butt: I’m ready to catch him if his foot slips. This clumsy little shit definitely can pull a nasty stunt like that. It’s a dangerous business.

“Enjoy what you see?”

“Aye,” I slap his ass.

“Ouch!”

Who am I even kidding? If he falls I’ll fall too. He may be bony, lean and short, but he’s still a man. We both will lose balance and tumble down like an ancient empire. Scattering our things all over the beautiful grumpy grass. He’ll stick his sharp bones in my flesh, and I’ll laugh because _my_ back will hit the ground.

“You have something against my bones?”

“Not at all. I love your bones.”

We yell at each other for awhile.

The ascension goes without incidents. The kingdom is still in its golden age. So now we’re having a picnic on top of the world. I’d sing a lovesong, but Steve just lays sprawled on the tiled sloped roof. Spread-eagled and relaxed on the blanket, with his eyes closed. I forget the words. I watch him bathing in dandelion and butterscotch colours. It suits him.

The sun shines violently on us. Steve smiles, he’s in a good mood, despite the disastrous beginning of the day. We talk, laugh, eat and watch people, who occasionally pass by. The road is quite far but we can see them, small ants, from here. From here they don’t seems so annoying.

“We are owls, you and me.”

Hours run, like prey, and we meet sunset on the roof. It feels so good. But then the dusk doesn’t look so fancy without city lights and we decide to go inside.

 

*Night*

 

The house has got high ceilings. Bedroom is on the second floor. We determine our newly favourite spots. Steve’s reading in the monstrous armchair by the window, I’m dozing on the bed under the radio’s crackle.

Suddenly, a knock on the window. It’s loud, resolute. The glass rattles. Steve startles, jumps out of his comfy place. I sit up.

A man’s face, grinning, peers into the room from the outside. Fucking hell, seriously? It’s the second floor! Steve pretends he didn’t lose his shit a moment ago. I’m on my feet, and before the man has time to knock again, I open the window.

I ask him, all stern and businesslike, “Can I help you?”

Now I see the man’s climbed the damn ladder we left lying in the ground. The man asks for directions, he got lost in the woods.

The rest of the night is peace.

“Do you see, Steve? Look! There’s a face in the window!”

“Don’t be an asshole, Buck.”

“A troll looks right though you, Steve.”

“Oh, piss off.”

I walk over to the window but the rigid snoot is gone. The branches of the oak tree shudder nervously. I press my forehead to the cool glass and catch a glimpse of a humpback figure hiding behind a tree few feet away. Another movement, shadows dance, and blackness disappears in the woods.

Steve’s hand grips my shoulder. I turn and raise my eyebrows at him. “I gotta go out and see who’s there.”

Steve wants to smack my face, I can sense that. He doesn’t want to stay, he doesn’t want to go. All this supernatural stuff, he hates it. He leaves the hand on my shoulder as we go outside, as if limbered-on.

The light flows from the open doors onto the earth, like a river. I stand in the middle of the yard and yell, like an idiot, as loud as I can to no effect. I wish I could cast a spell with a forceful song. We hear the branches creak in the deep of the forest, and then everything falls silent. Quite a disappointment, honestly.

We go back to the warmth and safety of our cave, shutting down the river.

 

*Morning*

 

I can see when Steve’s hurting. The thin line of his lips. Brow furrowed. Sporadic sighs. And he avoids meeting my eyes, as if he concentrates on the pain. Because if to look real close, inspect it deliberately thorough, the pain stops being excruciating. Turn it upside-down, inside-out. It’s fascinating. I know it. I’ve been there too.

But I’m on watch here. A goddamn guardian. I drive him to the ocean.

The salty wind ruffles his soul. Eyes widen, shine again. I know, he’s imagining all kinds of romantic things. Like sailing in a boat.

Heavy clouds, like an army, move from behind the horizon. Lightning cuts through the sky and lands onto the surface of the ocean. We’re in the local café drinking some really fancy coffee (me) and tea with croissants (him). Quiet pleasant music swims around. The play blue moon waves bye. The morning is painted pink and purple.

Steve glances up from his tea and winks at me. The smell of thunderstorm is our favourite. He enjoys this morning, it means I do, too.


End file.
